Source: Dr. Mithun James |
Torrential rains to us till now have meant a motley set of dissimilar things depending on our stake- no drying clothes on terrace, no light pants on roads, no school or no open air events. The 'us' here refers largely to chennaites, though could interchangeably be used to describe the hoi polloi of most Indian cities in general. The farthest we've gone to despise rains has been when it's disrupted an ongoing cricket match at a home venue, the single sacrilegious act an average Indian can't tolerate.
'Rain
enough to flood or dry enough to famish, but never rain on a home venue match', goes the popular indian sentiment.
As
far as Chennai goes, it’s never rained on our parade. At least, not on the ones
that really matter. Even on those fleeting occasions, the showers have only had
prowess enough to fell elderly trees or make translucent white shirts obscene.
If anything at all, the monsoon has evaded this part of the country year after
year snobbishly.
She's
been this city, who's always had a dispassionate third person account to an
aftermath of a calamity or an insurgency in other cities, through news
channels. Even when the tsunami had sprung a surprise at her on a generic
Sunday morning a decade back, her fortress remained largely impermeable. Who
knew good old red tapism with some clerical errors and a 50 cm downpour for a
couple of days would bring her down like never before.
Call
it providence or nepotism to north India; but both the forces of nature and
fringe elements have hitherto been rather kind or should I say, indifferent to
her, notwithstanding the opulence of her endowments or the diversity of her
populace.
National
attention has always come to her in rationed quantity as a scavenged leftover,
taking a multi crore scam or a Kamal Hasan movie’s ban to scream into the
national media's ears for acknowledgement of her existence.
Blame
it on phonetics or the font, colour or the culture; the north-south relation
has always been a plummeting affair. Over the years, the tepidity has been
subtly vented out through unsuspecting populist processes like caricaturing,
stereotyping, ridiculing and mispronouncing with ersatz entitlement.
To
an average north indian, anything south of the Vindhyas is Madras and every living being, Madrasi.
This is one intriguing conundrum, that most North Indians marginalise a South Indian as a Madrasi (after the erstwhile name of Chennai) despite there being
many other attention worthy South Indian cities than Chennai. Chennai
to its credit has been behaving like an adolescent coming to terms with the
extent of his faculties.
The
spirit of Chennai has been a largely jingoistic concept founded on infantile
credentials like CSK, Marina, Saravana Bhavan and Satyam. It's always pitched
itself as a middle-ground between cultural conservatism and cosmopolitan
trappings.
Chennai
has been this lackadaisical metro, content with its runner up status behind
Delhi and Mumbai, disgruntled but surreptitiously so. It has all along taken
respite in one-upmanship battles between Sambar vada and Vada Pav or
Bessy and Juhu, to keep its glory afloat, flimsily albeit.
It takes a heartbreak to make a man out of a boy. And
it takes a disaster to consolidate the spirit of a land.
The rise of Japan after Hiroshima or
Gujarat after earthquake being case in point.
The
city for the first time succumbed to nature's fury and tumbled to a
standstill. Mobile towers short of fuel, floating cars, flooded roads,
islanded houses, perennial power shut downs, vestigial electrical appliances were apostles to nature's cryptic mockery at
human pursuit at building a utopian civilization, all of which came down in a
tumbling manner like a deck of cards.
A
natural calamity devours through the veil of urbanization; turning lands to
naked strips reeking with primal ambitions of food, survival and shelter, in the
process reducing concepts like GDP, gold prices, interest rates, loss of pay,
year ends, audit, fitness, politics to redundancy of gibberish
extent.
When pushed to a corner, the nemesis that doesn't
break us makes us stronger than before the impetus; in the process increasing
the pain threshold.
Which
is exactly what happened with the floods.
It brought together the residents to
dovetail their aspirations to a common purpose of helping the city rise up on
its feet again, giving it a personality of its own for the first time since its
conjuring. They vicariously lived through the turmoil- limping, recovering and
rising along with it; behaving similar to individually insignificant parts of a
behemoth machinery, on their road to recovery.
By
the time the national media arrived gratuitously like cops in the climax of an
eighties movie , the nature’s fury had receded paving way for the city to pick
itself up on its own without reaching out for help. This self sufficiency after
one of its most cruel rendezvous with nature, was Chennai’s way of reiterating
its autonomous jurisdiction to the national media which was content on making
saleable vanity projects of sensitive news from rest of India.
The
floods helped in forging the spirit of Chennai beyond a cliché, helping it come
of age from a boisterous city content on flaunting and finger pointing to a
self sufficient one with empathetic inhabitants, who would individually fall to
make it infallible.
A city in general is defined by its characteristic infrastructural
traits, the political ecosystem, sporting franchises representing it, flagship
landmarks and primary goods that it produces. But it always takes a single
occasion of unanimous display of ownership by its indigenous population, to
come into its own; truly and tangibly.
In the coming days we might go back to signal hopping like apes in
traffic, queue up outside liquor shops, curse the sun's tyranny on humid days
and wear yellow jerseys to CSK matches as a display of pseudo solidarity.
But we would never forget
those dark days when we were there for each other with dogged resilience to see
the light at the end of the tunnel together. Those dark days when we realised
that Chennai meant more to us than just an address, an indelible identity to
relish.
Aswath , you seem to inherit legacy of " silver tongue , right honourable" srinivasa sastry. I would like you to write like RK Narayan without your inimitable flowery language , some of the words used by you send us like new cricket ball being whacked by sewag on a leather hunt , in search of dictionary. Let ordinary mortals like us who are brought up in obscure villages and towns by our parents listening to innocuous religious discourses and slokas ,understand and enjoy your thoughts which Flow like recent chennai floods!
ReplyDeleteThanks for the feedback. Surely will try to work on it!
DeleteHi, Really great effort. Everyone must read this article. Thanks for sharing.
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